


The Dirty Jobs

by dracox_serdriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels are Dicks, Anxiety Attacks, Autism, Awkward Castiel, Bunker Fic, Coda, Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Fallen Castiel, Falling Angels, Gen, Hitchhiking, Human Castiel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Lost Castiel, One-Shot, POV Castiel, Panic Attacks, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracox_serdriel/pseuds/dracox_serdriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel wakes up alone, human, and in a field.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beaten

**Author's Note:**

> **THEN** :  
> [08x23 Sacrifice]  
> With guidance from Metatron, Castiel attempted to complete the Angel Tablet trials to close the Gates of Heaven. Naomi warns Dean that Sam will die if he completes the Demon Tablet trials and closes the Gates of Hell. When Cas returned to Heaven to free Metatron, the archangel betrayed him and stole his Grace, then cast him to Earth as a human. Cas woke just in time to witness his brothers and sisters fall from Heaven.

Castiel was sprawled out across the grass and dirt. On some level, he understood the events that brought him to this place on the earth. He remembered Naomi exploiting his love of humanity to capture him and her subsequent torture to obtain the Angel Tablet. He remembered the searing agony of Crowley's angel-blade-bullet and the twisting, wrenching ache of his insides as the King removed the tablet from his vessel. The angel vaguely recalled his escape and his refuge with the Winchesters. 

Dean's anger, his lack of forgiveness, made recalling those few days at the Men of Letters' bunker a hazy affair. Sam Winchester's illness – 

Guilt caught somewhere in his chest, and he exhaled sharply. Sam Winchester. Castiel did not ask Metatron if he could survive the trials. For all he knew, Sam was already dead, and Dean was alone. 

Bitterness and anger surfaced, but there were too many other emotions competing for his limited attention. Metatron took his Grace and told him to accept this as a gift, to put the big picture, the larger plan, out of his mind. None of that was his to worry about any longer. 

He opened his eyes. Cas could live with the loss of power; he had done so before. He could handle the limited ability to process his surroundings; in time, he might even be able to manage the barrage of emotions currently paralyzing and confusing him. If he could get to Dean, if Sam was still alive –

Fire burned from the sky. Had he been an angel, he would've seen what was really happening: Heaven opened up into the physical universe and a hailstorm began. He watched as each of his living siblings burned like a star, cast out from their home.

Castiel had failed the Winchesters and the angels – his family on Earth and in Heaven – too many times. He started a Civil War that killed hundreds of angels, then became drunk with the power of Purgatory and vaporized thousands more. His trespasses allowed the Leviathan back on earth, and they decimated the entire Garrison. And now, what few of his brethren remained were being hurled to earth like meteorites. Even Lucifer did not cause such horrific damage to Heaven, Earth, and his father's creation. 

Guilt, shame, pain, and fear vied for his attention, but the new physical sensations of his body overwhelmed them. His stomach, his throat, his mouth all ached. He had experienced this before under the influence of Famine. He must be hungry.

His phone rang.

It was Dean Winchester.

All he had to do was push a small button. Cas could then speak to Dean and tell him that he failed to save Heaven and Sam because Metatron had tricked him. He thought he was doing the right thing, but he had been wrong.

"Yeah, you always do," Dean had replied to him the last time he tried to explain, to apologize. 

With that, every iota of Castiel's resolved dissipated. If Sam was alive, the illness of the trials would have hold over him. Dean was probably calling Cas because Sam needed healing.

And Castiel no longer had any powers. 

He watched as the phone's message change from DEAN CALLING to 1 MISSED CALL, then almost immediately after, 1 VOICE MESSAGE. 

He had been in this vessel for years, but his Grace had maintained his sense of self, his essence. The tangy roar of hunger and the twisting sensation of thirst made it difficult to focus. The gentle undulating of his breath, the rumbling feeling of his heart – and, indeed, this was Castiel's heart, for Jimmy Novak was no longer with him – all cascaded together and overwhelmed him. 

Today Cas was just a man in a trench coat under the stars. He was a curse to his family in Heaven, and he no longer had anything to offer his family on earth. Nothing but disappointment and confusion.

His heart began to flutter, and his chest tightened as if compressed. His biological impulses took over, and he began to gasp violently for air. Black spots rippled in front of his eyes, and his body wavered until some ancient reflex kicked in and he bent over from the knees. What the hell was going on?

Several minutes passed without change; his heart was beating so fast, it felt as if it would explode. 

"Hey, you a'ight?" someone asked. When he did not respond, the person asked again, "Sir? Sir? Are you having a heart attack?"

Castiel intellectually knew what a heart attack was, but the symptoms escaped him. 

"Cardiac arrest would have killed me by now," the former-angel replied. 

"Okay, so, wha'bout a panic or anxiety attack?" the stranger continued. "My uncle used to have those."

The stranger was near enough for Cas to see him now. He was younger than he originally expected, somewhere in his early twenties. He was in a police uniform. 

"I stopped when I saw the meteor shower," the officer said. "You do the same?"

"Yes," Cas wheezed.

"Hey, uh, can ya stand up straight now?"

Cas tried. His heart was still hammering and his chest still hurt. He couldn't help himself; his hands clutched his collarbones. 

"Hows'about you walk with me over to the road, we get you sat down, maybe call an ambulance? They'll get you sorted," the man offered.

"Y-yes, thank you."

"I'm Xavier, but everyone calls me Vee," the man said. "You?"

"I, too, will call you 'Vee' if that is what you wish."

"No, I mean, what'cher name?"

"Oh, of course," Cas said as he followed Xavier. "You can call me Eddie."

"You ever had one 'o these before, Eddie?"

"No." 

Xavier sat Castiel down at some kind of outdoor table. It took several minutes, but his breathing returned to normal and his heart rate stabilized.

"I can call you an ambulance," Xavier offered.

"No, thank you," Cas said. "I feel much better. Whatever it was, it passed. And before you found me, a friend – I'm waiting for him."

"Okay, well, I gotta go, so will you be okay here by yourself?" Xavier asked.

Castiel nodded. 

He was alone by the side of the road and human. His phone rang again. He reached inside his coat and turned it off without looking. There was only one person who could be calling him.

Fear quickly precipitated shame and guilt. His fallen siblings were now all around the world, and if they didn't know he was responsible, yet they would soon find out. He couldn't burden the Winchesters with more danger – if there were, in fact, still Winchesters living. 

Tears were hot and sticky on his face. Strange. He had always imagined they'd be cold.


	2. All Mixed Up

Cas spent the night at the Healing Outreach Shelter in Concordia, Kansas. He only resigned himself to staying the night after Officer Xavier returned hours later to find Cas still "waiting for his friend." Xavier explained that he couldn't sleep on a table outside and insisted that he either get a motel room or stay in a shelter. When Cas remained resistant, the officer told him that the only other option was a jail cell. 

During the Apocalypse, he had gradually lost his angelic powers. After surviving the Leviathan, his amnesia protected him, preventing him from understanding the full extent of his abilities. In both cases, he retained his Grace, that part of his essence that made him Castiel, Angel of the Lord, no matter the powers he had. So even though he had lived as a human, he had never truly been one of them, not the way Anael had when she fell to earth to be reborn as Anna Milton. For the first time, Cas was utterly and completely human, and the experience overwhelmed him. 

Castiel chose the shelter because he had limited funds, and he imagined being arrested would incur unnecessary attention. He never truly slept before as a human, and his first night was full of false starts and waking dreams. In the morning, he woke up alone to a loud, annoying alarm. 

"Sorry, buddy," the caretaker said when he spotted him. "I gotta ask you to leave."

"Yes, of course," Cas said, collecting his coat before exiting the room full of scattered cots. 

Cas could've used some of his cash for a motel room, but hunger and tiredness drowned out reason and thought alike. 

He could turn his phone back on and call Dean, but the idea churned his stomach and made his heart flutter. Cas forced himself to stop thinking about it, as he didn't want a repeat of last night's attack. The desperate desire to hide welled up in him. 

He didn't have enough money for more than a few nights in a motel room. Unlike the Winchesters, he had no aliases or fake credit cards, and most of all, he had no car. The only thing that occurred to him was hitchhiking, which he had observed the brothers do from time to time when they were separated. 

Where was he to go?

* * *

Castiel flagged down a pickup truck somewhere in western Kansas. He abandoned the last car when the driver continued to drive on the opposite side of the road. Now that he had a mortal body, the urge to protect it screamed in his head.

The truck pulled over, and a clear-eyed woman stared him down. In the passenger seat sat a large, proud Doberman.

"Where you headed?" she asked.

Castiel shrugged. "At least to another area with cars and gas stations," he replied.

"You mean a rest stop?" she asked.

"I suppose."

"Well, I got two other hitchhikers in the back. More then welcome to join us, but any trouble from you, and Bud here bites, you understand?"

Castiel tilted his head. "You're saying you'll order your dog to attack me should I be problematic."

She laughed. "Yeah, go on."

Castiel climbed into the bed of the truck. The other two passengers were a woman and a young girl, perhaps mother and daughter. 

"Hello," he said quietly to both of them. 

The young girl looked in his general direction, but her eyes remained averted, almost out of focus. The woman smiled back at him.

"Hello," she replied. 

The truck started moving, and for a few minutes they rode along in silence.

"I'm Eddie," he offered. 

"I'm Jane," she said, "and this is Annie."

"Is she autistic?" Cas asked, honestly curious.

His mistake was not long-lived, however, as Jane threw him a glare that spoke so clearly even Castiel understood it. 

"My apologies," he said. "It must be frustrating."

"What's that?" she asked harshly.

"Autism spectrum disorders occur four to seven times more often in boys than in girls. Medical treatments, therapies, and other support systems have been developed based on research done almost exclusively with male candidates," Cas said in his normal monotone. "Symptoms in girls present differently, which often leads to a delay in diagnosis. And when treatment is utilized for girls, it is often less affective. Sometimes this is a biological reaction, the treatment is physically less responsive for girls than for boys, but it can also be social. The symptoms in girls may be interpreted as shyness or quietness in terms of abiding social structure, making it more acceptable for individuals like peers or authority figures to forget the diagnosis or fail to accept it as truth. I imagine such a scenario, effecting someone dearly loved, would be highly frustrating."

Silence persisted. Jane's clenched jaw relaxed, as if she decided the man hitchhiking in a trench coat had reason to speak with her so baldly. 

"Where do you fall on the spectrum?" she asked. 

"I don't," he said. "As far as I know."

"Then why do you know so much about autism?"

Castiel learned about autism and its related disorders by spending time with the souls in Heaven. He understood saying this to someone else would not be acceptable, so instead he said, "I've known many."

"You're a doctor?"

"No," he replied. 

"A nurse?"

"No."

Jane asked, "Then what do you do for a living?"

"At the moment, nothing. I – haven't – I'm on my own," he finished lamely. 

"You sound like you know things," Jane said. "I used to be a nurse."

"Used to be?" 

"Technically I still am, part-time. After Annie was diagnosed, I had to work less," she said. "What did you do before?"

Cas bit his lip. "I made a lot of mistakes," he replied.

"You can't be that bad," Jane pointed out. "Annie doesn't seem to mind you at all. That's unusual for a stranger."

Cas had nothing to say to that. 

Jane pulled something out of her pocket and motioned for Cas to take it. It was a well-worn napkin with the name 'The Willows Beard' handwritten across it, along with 'Steve' and a phone number.

"My car broke down and I had to hitch, and – well, you kinda - I don't know. For some reason I feel like you need this more than me. Steve, he works at The Willows Beard, and he's got no problem hiring people to do odd jobs. No questions, no paperwork. When I needed more money, I'd pick up a shift from him," she said. "As long as you can wash a dish or clean. Trinidad, Colorado."

"You believe he will hire me without inquiring about my past?" Castiel stated. "I'm fairly certain that is illegal."

Annie had been softly mumbling this whole time, but she picked up the term 'illegal' and began repeating it. Jane directed her attention to a melody that Cas did not understand.

"Sorry for upsetting her," he said. "And thank you, Jane."

* * *

Castiel did follow Jane's advice and called Steve at The Willows Beard, a popular roadside diner. Steve originally had him cleaning and busing, but about a week into the job, he witnessed Castiel's affinity for numbers and coaxed him into settling the books and double-checking the tills. 

The former angel didn't think to ask for more than the eight dollars an hour offered. The dribble of money enabled him to rent a room and purchase cloths from the local thrift store. Lucy, one of the employees, spent three hours explaining to Castiel sizes and styles. 

The lessons she gave to him in regards to style were completely lost on him; the only thing he managed to absorb was "blue brings out your eyes," which he understood to mean that the color of his eyes became more apparent when matched with a top of a similar color. He had witnessed this phenomenon whenever Dean wore a hunter green shirt. At least Lucy managed to impress upon him the general idea of sizing for shoes, pants, and shirts; otherwise, he'd've purchased overlong pants and dreadfully baggy shirts.

He had gained a reputation in town for naive sincerity, especially after the incident at the Laundromat. One of the bus boys from the diner saved him – or more correctly, his clothing – by explaining to him that detergent goes in the washer, the sheets go in the dryer, and the effects of water temperature. The revelation had knocked Cas down the few pegs he'd gained for himself. 

Several people in this town openly made passes at him even he couldn't miss, but he felt no attraction to anyone. At best he experienced a kind of mild affection, a degree of comfort, around people like Jane and Steve. It was nothing like the camaraderie, the friendship, he had with Dean and Sam, and it had nothing of the contentment or sentiment that he once experienced with siblings like Balthazar and Anna. 

Castiel had been human for three weeks, and while he managed to meet basic needs like shelter, sustenance, and clothing, he recognized that his only real achievement as of yet was remaining alive without harming anyone else in the process.


	3. Karma

Dean Winchester was in his own very special brand of Hell; the kind forged with his own mistakes and fears. It was over a week since he pulled Sam out of that church, since he stopped the trials. His younger brother's condition wasn't improving, and Kevin's response had been violent, if not entirely understandable. 

And Cas was gone. 

He tried tracking his phone's GPS, but it was turned off. With Sam sick and Kevin pissed off, not to mention thousands of angels cast of Heaven, Dean had barely a leg to stand on.

"Any luck?" Sam asked, his eyes watery and puffy. 

Dean clenched his jaw. 

"What about you?" the younger Winchester directed to Kevin. 

Kevin replied, "There's a lot here, and it's all... poetic. The Leviathan Tablet was like a warning label on a bottle. Clear, concise. The Demon Tablet was more like a novel. There's stuff on there I still haven't really understood. But the Angel Tablet? It's like weird modern art that everyone says they like but actually think is stupid and ugly."

"So, nothing yet?"

"Nothing helpful," Kevin hedged. "And we're out of Twizzlers."

"We've got Scotch," Dean offered. 

"Dean, he's eighteen," Sam protested.

"And has been kidnapped by Leviathans and the King of Hell twice," Dean said. "Stuff like that adds a decade each time. So officially, Kev, you're forty-eight."

"Twizzlers," he snapped. "Don't forget." He grabbed the tablet and left the table.

"Dean, we need something drastic," Sam said. "To figure this out."

"I agree."

"I think we should summon Naomi," Sam replied.

"No."

"It's not like she's on my Christmas list, but she helped us save Bobby, and she's the reason I'm still alive, so – "

"No, Sam."

"She might know where Cas is."

"She might be the reason Cas isn't here!"

"We won't know until we ask her!" Sam snapped, his stuffy nose liberally dripping. He wiped it away and scrambled for a tissue.

"No."

"Dean – "

"I already tried!" Dean snapped. "She didn't come to the summons, no matter what I tried."

"Didn't Cas say she was in charge up there? Maybe she's too powerful. There's a book here about binding summoning rituals – "

"You put a sticky note on it," Dean interrupted. "That's the one I used. It didn't work."

Sam bit his lip. "Then, we need to summon Metatron."

"Sorry, say again?" Dean said. "The ass clown that tricked Cas and almost got you killed?"

"He's the only angel we know by name that's still alive. I'm assuming you already tried to summon Cas."

Dean didn't reply.

"Dean, either we summon Metatron, or I'm – "

"No," Dean interrupted. "I'll do it. Your mission is the same: figure out how to get better."

"Dean, I can – "

"I know but we need to divide and conquer, okay?"

Sam nodded. "All right."

Dean left Sam alone at the table. 

There was nothing on the tablet that explained exactly what the trials did to him, but he understood it purified him on some level. He had been made unclean, for lack of a better word, by ingesting demon blood. He imagined that the affects of the demon tablet were similar to ingesting angel blood, if such a thing were possible. 

Whatever was going on, clearly blood was the prime factor. Sam's blood nearly cured Crowley. Maybe someone else's blood would cure him. 

The trouble was, Sam would need medical help with the transfusions, including blood matching and typing. He already put in a call to Doctor Robert, one of his father's old contacts that kept in touch with Dean. He hoped Dean's search for Castiel would take long enough for Sam to exact his next course of action without his brother's meddling.

* * *

Dean found a nice abandoned office building a few hours from the bunker. After supplying the Prophet of the Lord with adequate Twizzlers and frozen dinners, he rounded up the necessities for the most powerful summoning spell he could use on an angel. 

Then he lit the match and dropped it.

A rustle of wings: Metatron the Archangel stood, rather unimpressive, about five feet from Dean. 

"Ah, hello again," Metatron said. "You and your brother really sold yourselves short on your introduction. I've been speaking to some people – souls, actually – and you two have quite a story. You should really consider – "

"Seriously?" Dean interrupted. "You want our story? Chuck Shurley wrote all about us. He was the Prophet before Kevin. Apparently Chuck's dead now," Dean said. "Speaking of which – "

He ignited the Holy Oil encircling Metatron. 

"Huh," he remarked. "Didn't know you knew about the Holy Oil."

"Raphael would have filled you in if he was still alive," Dean said smugly.

"And you're going to do what, exactly?" Metatron asked. "I've been on your side since the beginning. I went into hiding so no one could exploit – "

"You're a dick, just like every other angel I've ever met," Dean interrupted. "And now I have you trapped, you're gonna answer my questions."

Metatron didn't seem frightened. "Is that so?"

"Let's start with what you did to Cas."

"Cas?"

"Castiel," Dean explained. "What did you do to him?"

Metatron replied, "I gave him absolution."

"Absolution?" 

"Everyone in Heaven was conflicted over him," Metatron explained. "No matter what, he is responsible for the death of thousands in Heaven and the entire Garrison on earth."

"Leviathans did that," Dean protested.

"Leviathans brought back into the world by Castiel." 

"So you killed him?"

"That would be punishment, not absolution." 

"Cut the cryptic crap and tell me what you did to Cas!" Dean yelled, pulling out an angel blade.

"Where did you get that?"

"Cas has been family for a long time. I have a few of these tucked away for a rainy day."

Metatron glared at the blade before he responded. He said, "Castiel is not Lucifer. His intentions were never to harm Heaven, but to preserve it. Unfortunately, his naivety caused him to fall prey to others."

"Like you," Dean muttered.

"As long as he was alive and an angel, Heaven was at risk. I knew my Father's wishes very well, and I believe that while Castiel's sins are many, they were done in attempt to keep the world as God wanted it. So I forgave him and made him human."

"Human? Where is he?"

The archangel shook his head. "I put him back on the earth in Kansas."

"So, what? Now he's a fetus waiting to be born? Or did you just wipe his memory?"

"Neither. He is in his chosen vessel, alive with his memories, somewhere on earth."

It took all of Dean's self-control to prevent himself from stabbing Metatron in the face.

"You've never been on our side," Dean said. 

"I am on your side."

"You told Cas you were gonna fix Heaven, right? That you and he were gonna do the angel trials and lock the Pearly Gates so the remaining angels could play nice. He believed you. He did what you asked because you promised him the one thing he wanted most. Fixing his mistakes. But it was all a head game, just a way to get what you wanted," Dean said, his voice as level as he could maintain. "I mean, I'm guessing that little spontaneous meteor shower of angels was your doing?"

Metatron nodded and began, "They abused their power – "

"So did you," Dean cut him off. "You're no better than Naomi."

"Don't compare me to her – "

"Why not? You tell me you're on our side. So did she. You used Castiel, screwed with his head, then abandoned him. So did she."

Metatron bit his lip. "You're wrong. Castiel would never agree to my plan, I knew that, but I did do as promised. Heaven is a better place. A safer place."

"You don't believe that," Dean said. "You know what you did, and it wasn't for anyone but yourself."

He stowed the sword and turned away. 

"Since you're the only angel in Heaven now," Dean said, "I guess I better leave you alone."

Metatron didn't reply as Dean walked away. The hunter tripped the sprinklers before he left; killing Metatron would have to wait until he found Cas.


	4. Seeing Only Dreams

How did people live this way?

This was Castiel's most persistent thought. It permeated his waking hours and woke him from sleep. Angelic beings had constant vigilance, but his human body chronically avoided inconvenient truths. Jane came into the diner more and more often to speak with him, but he never absorbed or acknowledged her overt attraction. He avoided eye contact and all forms of unnecessary social interaction, no matter how persistent or insistent. When he wasn't acquiring funds for food and lodging, he remained either alone in his room or quiet in the Laundromat, only venturing out to the store when absolute necessity forced his hand. 

His isolation became more profound when Steve suggested the former angel, known to him as Edward Smith, simply take the books home. Castiel's contact with people was reduced to one hour a day when he came in to check the register or to hand in the books.

His time alone became a prison, yet he had no desire to escape. Five weeks as a human and the last week spent almost entirely isolated. How did people live this way? 

It honestly never occurred to Castiel that many people did not live this way.

Halfway through his second week of working from his motel room, someone knocked on his door. He opened it without looking through the peep hole. 

It was Jane.

"Hello, Eddie," she said. "You've not been at work."

"I work from here," Cas replied.

They stood in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jane asked, "May I come in?"

The former angel stepped aside, and she promptly took a seat at the small table. Cas shut the door, unsure of how to behave in this particular social situation.

"Hi," he said quietly.

"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here?" 

Cas nodded. He didn't feel comfortable joining her at the table, so he found a bare spot along the wall and leaned back. He couldn't figure out what to do with his hands; it never occurred to him before that they needed to do something. He resolved the conflict by tucking them into his pockets.

"I thought, when you wound up in that pickup truck with me, that maybe you were running from something."

"Running?"

"You said you made mistakes. And you seemed like a person who's seen bad things."

Cas didn't know what to say. 

"And you know about autism. And apparently you can do math. I guess I'm wondering who you are."

"So am I."

Jane realized she wasn't getting anywhere. "When I see you, I see my little girl as an adult. I see my daughter after I'm gone, and she's alone. Not because she has no family. Not because she has to be, but because it's what she's known. It's how she knows how to live."

"You sound unhappy," Cas replied.

"Eddie, you're smart. And clearly up until this point, people have cared about you, cared for you," she said.

"I don't understand."

"You're a good man. At least you seem like one. And I just hope – whatever it is you're running from, or whoever it is you're afraid of – that you wouldn't let that keep you here, in this room, away from the people who care about you."

"I have caused irreparable damage to the relationships with the people that care about me," he said bluntly. 

"Are they all dead?"

Cas shook his head and whispered, "Not that I am aware of."

"Then nothing's irreparable."

"I used to believe that," Cas said. "And my attempts to rectify my mistakes only led to catastrophe and more loss."

"My husband – Annie's father – left because he didn't want her diagnosed. He thought the doctors would do more harm than good. But I knew she needed help, and – he left. He said he wouldn't be part of this. Any of it."

"That must have been difficult for you," Cas said. "I'm sorry."

"Eddie, Annie's father is alive in Kansas. The day we met, we were on our way out to visit him, so Annie could see him for the first time in years. When my car broke down, I thought it was some kind of sign. A sign that we were better off without him."

"That seems a reasonable assessment of omens, given the circumstances." 

"Except I didn't factor in meeting you," she said. "I was so focused on my broken car that I didn't consider that you were the sign."

"I don't understand."

"You are a man apart from his family, broken away. Like my family is broken. My husband. The difference is, he knows where we are. I know where he is. I could drive to his house now that my car is fixed."

"Is that your plan?" Cas asked, thoroughly confused.

"What I am asking is, does your family know where you are? Have you given them the chance to tell you what they want?"

"They have spoken."

"And they told you to never come back?"

Cas remembered something Dean told him. He had said, "We don't need your help. Just stay here and... and get better." 

Stay here. Stay _here_ , and get better.

"Not – no. They didn't," he replied.

"Neither did Hank," she said. "My husband. I thought I was protecting Annie by avoiding him, but the truth is, I'm angry and afraid – and it's not right. Even though he left us behind, I'm gonna contact him. But your family can't do that, can they? They don't know where you are, don't have your number, so they can't even try."

"No, they can't. It's better that way."

Jane bit her lip. "I came here to thank you. I know that might be weird, but, thank you. And to return the favor, I just wanna say, give your family the chance. Don't leave them out in the cold."

Cas stared abjectly at the floor. The new emotions in his mind churned up and around him, threatening to engulf him. He said, "You should go."

Jane didn't say anything else; she just stood up, left, and shut the door behind her.

Cas fumbled through his coat for his old phone, the one Dean gave to him months ago. He flipped it on and dialed the voicemail. 

The voice said, "You have 11 new messages."

He swallowed hard. The temptation to turn off the phone made his heart race, but he told himself he owed it to Dean to listen to at least one of the voicemails. 

Beep. "Cas? Cas! Sam is in bad shape but he's alive. Cas, please tell me you are, too – call me back as soon as you get this. Turn your GPS on, Sam and I will find you – no matter what."

Beep. "Cas, we're back at the bunker. Sam's in no shape to be moving around, so he'll be here all day. All you have to do is knock. Or call."

Beep. "It's me. Sam. Dean said he couldn't get a hold of you, so I thought – look, if you can't talk, then text. Or something. It's been three days, Dean's worried Naomi may have done something to you. Or Metatron. Call us back."

Beep. "Cas, where are you?"

Beep. "Cas, please – "

Beep. "If Metatron did something – "

Beep. "Just call us back. Just let me know. Please."

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep!

Every message sounded hurt, afraid, angry, but they also pleaded for his response. 

His hands shook, inflexible and unruly. He had experienced similar tremors to this once after lifting too many heavy objects in close succession. He didn't understand why it was happening again, but he dimly understood that this was like his anxiety attack. His body reacted to his emotions involuntarily. 

Cas should've picked up the phone. He never should have run – and now? He had been hiding for nearly six weeks. What would he say? Thinking about it weakened his resolve, and when he tried to use his old phone, the signal failed. 

To call the Winchesters, he'd have to use his room phone, and they would be able to pinpoint his exact location from the number. The words Jane said rolled through his mind, followed by the messages Sam and Dean left. Regret and shame encircled him, and Cas sat alone in his room with his hands shaking, irresolutely staring at the landline.


	5. One of Us

Sam picked up one of Dean's cell phones. 

"Hello?"

"Hello," said a familiar voice.

"Cas?" Sam asked.

"Yes."

"You're alive? You're – where are you?"

"Trinidad, Colorado."

"Okay, that's not far from us. Do you know the address?"

"Yes, I – "

"Okay, give it to me, and Dean and I will come get you."

"Come get me?" Cas asked. 

Sam's voice faltered. "I just sort of... assumed you'd want to come home. I mean, back to the bunker. We've got plenty of room."

"I do, but – do you – are you sure you want me there?"

"Cas, are you kidding?"

"No, I just – I – "

"Then give me the address."

* * *

Sam drove the Impala as Dean shifted, agitated, in the passenger seat. He took out the Metallica tape and put in AC/DC, which he quickly swapped for Led Zeppelin. 

"Dude, pick something and let it play," Sam snapped. 

"Shut up."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about."

"Okay."

Led Zeppelin filled the silence before Dean stopped it and dropped Metallica back in. 

"Do that one more time, and I'm putting in The Who and invoking the cake-hole rule," Sam warned.

* * *

After Cas hung up the phone, he felt excited, almost happy. The weight of his humanity flickered out, and for the first time since he arrived, his motel room appeared to be little more to him than a temporary living space.

In the next instant, his heart started palpitating. Dean and Sam would ask him why he was here, in this motel room. They would ask him about his new cloths. They would ask him how long he'd been here. What would he say? 

It took him two hours to recover his composure, and he was only able to do so by concentrating on the numbers, completing the books for Steve. This would be the last accounting he would do for The Willows Beard.

* * *

"Cas has been staying here?" Dean asked as he parked the Impala.

"This is the address he gave me. Room 102."

"What the hell?" 

"Dean, we're the only people he really knows."

"So why is he here?"

"Because this is what we do. Rent motel rooms."

"Let's go," Dean said as got out of the car. 

Knock, knock, knock!

"Sam? Dean?" came Castiel's voice from the other side of the door.

"It's us," Dean said. "Open up."

The door swung open, and Cas stood empty-handed in front of them dressed in a pair of black jeans and a light blue t-shirt. He looked so... human. 

Dean didn't take long to register this, though. He pushed by the former angel with his favorite silver-and-white handgun at the ready. He went through the room checking under the bed, behind the doors, in the bathroom, even inside the cabinets.

"I am the only one here," Cas said. 

Sam entered, apologetically tucking his own handgun away. "Dean, it's clear."

Dean seemed to accept this, as he desisted looking under every movable object. He produced a flashlight and moved very close to Cas, shining the light in his eyes, trying to gage his pupil response. The former angel flinched at the brightness and backed away.

"Have you been doing drugs?" Dean asked loudly. 

"Drugs? No."

"What about orgies? Have you been having orgies?"

"Dean, what the hell?" the younger Winchester snapped.

"No, I haven't," Cas replied awkwardly. 

"Why are you here?" Dean demanded. His trip to 2014 showed him that a fallen Cas was lost, hedonistic, and empty. He'd be damned if that would happen to his Castiel. The former angel's confusion manifested in his expression: gap-jawed and wide-eyed. Clearly, he had embraced his humanity on a level his angelic self never achieved.

Cas had expected questions, but certainly not the first two, and none at such a high decibel. He struggled to find an adequate answer.

"I needed a room," he finally replied. 

"You've been here? For weeks?" Dean asked. "As a human? What the hell Cas?"

"I was, uh, and – someone offered me a job and I was hungry and, uh," Cas stumbled. "I was lost and didn't know what else to do."

Sam said, "It's okay, man, you did the right thing – "

"The right thing was to call us," Dean interrupted, finally stowing his gun. "What the hell, Cas? Angels falling from the sky, and you can't pick up the phone and fill us in?"

"I'm sorry, I – didn't know what I was doing, and I got your messages and called – "

"Why didn't you go back to the bunker?" Dean asked.

"I – my powers were gone and I was afraid I'd be unwelcomed."

"Unwelcomed? What gave you that impression?" Dean asked, his anger obvious.

"You did," Cas replied quietly. "And I didn't – Metatron didn't tell me if Sam would survive and – "

"Cas, it's okay," Sam interrupted, breaking the tension. 

"So you ran away because I was mad at you?" Dean asked.

"I ran away because I failed you. Again," Cas replied. "And I didn't know how to tell you I was sorry. Again."

Dean curbed his anger. Castiel perceived that the tension in the room was still elevated, so he said to Sam, "You look well."

He nodded his head, yes, and replied, "Blood transfusions."

"I'm sorry that I can't examine you as I once did," Cas said. "To see if your molecules are back to normal."

"They are," Sam said. "I can feel it."

Dean had remained quiet, which made Cas uncomfortable. Part of him believed that the older Winchester would leave him behind, disgusted with his choices.

"Dean, I am – I just don't know, and I'm sorry," Cas repeated awkwardly.

Dean took a moment before he replied. "Listen to me, you sorry son of a bitch. I don't care if you broke purgatory open again or lit the Pope on fire. You pick up the damn phone and you call us. You come home because you are one of us. Yeah, we'll give you Hell for screwing up, sure, but that's not the same as not wanting you there. Do you understand me?"

"I – most of what you said," Cas replied. 

Dean smiled. "Don't think you've heard the end of this, Cas." 

Cas glanced over at Sam for approval. Despite the words Dean utilized, his brother seemed glad. 

Dean continued, "Now, you got your stuff packed? Because we're hauling your ass home."


End file.
